The Way We Met
by Fiction101
Summary: All the ways we could have met. What if Danny and Lacey hadn't met innocently when they were children? What if they had met... tragically as adults... passionately in their youth... or randomly during their golden years?
1. Prologue

******Disclaimer: I, Fiction 101, do not own the TV series Twisted or the characters within it. I also claim no ownership rights Ellie Goulding's song _Every Time You Go._**

**A/N:** I know what you're thinking, "Another story? Why don't you finish one of the ones you've already started?" I agree with you wholeheartedly, but this little idea-nugget wouldn't leave me alone and thus _The Way We Met_ was born. This is a series featuring various points in time that Danny and Lacey could have met and under a variety of circumstances.

Summary: All the ways we could have met. What if Danny and Lacey hadn't met innocently when they were children? What if they had met... tragically as adults... passionately in their youth... or randomly during their golden years?

* * *

**THE WAY WE MET**

_**Prologue**_

* * *

_It starts with a picture_

_And it sits in your frame_

_And we part with a letter_

_And it ends in my name_

_Dear Lacey,_

_I'd like to think that if we hadn't met innocently as children I still would have known you in some way, shape or form. That even if things had worked out differently, I still would have gotten the chance to like you. The opportunity to love you. That in another life we still would have been Danny and Lacey in some capacity, even if it were only for a short period of time. I'd take what I could get. I'd take whatever you'd be willing to give. Friendship, romance, or something in-between. Days, months or years. __We would have met at some point in time, I'm sure of this. _

_And whatever way we would have met, Lacey, know this, I wouldn't change a single thing._

_- D _

* * *

**A/N:** I know this is short but the first chapter will be posted soon. Until then I'd love to know how you think Danny and Lacey met.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Tragically As Adults

**Disclaimer: I, Fiction 101, do not own the TV series Twisted or the characters within it. I also claim no ownership rights to the song Someone To Say It To by Ellery.**

**A/N: **Thank you for all of your kind comments! Here's the first chapter as promised.

* * *

Summary: All the ways we could have met. What if Danny and Lacey hadn't met innocently when they were children? What if they had met... tragically as adults... passionately in their youth... or randomly during their golden years?

**THE WAY WE MET**

**Chapter One:**

**_...Tragically As Adults_**

* * *

_I'm afraid I'll never be_  
_Strong enough to carry me_  
_I don't mean to frighten you_  
_Just need someone to say it to_

I used to believe that the past was in the past. What's done is done. Ancient history. The thing is, history has a funny way of repeating itself.

**Session One:**

"Daniel Desai?"

My gaze shifts from a two-month-old copy of _Reader's Digest_, to the attractive brunette clad in a plain black blazer and matching pencil skirt. "Danny," I correct automatically. "And you're my fancy new therapist, I presume."

She reaches out to shake my hand but at the last second quickly retracts it, "Lacey Porter. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Desai." She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand motioning for me to follow her down the hall, "Right this way."

Unlike my former therapist, her office is plain, devoid of any personal artifacts and painted a color that seems to be a cross between beige and grey... Greige? The only thing that could remotely reflect an ounce of personality is the 16x20 framed quote from _Romeo and Juliet_: "What must be shall be"... Well, that and the unmistakable scent of disinfectant that clings to the air.

"So, how does this work exactly? Do we start from the beginning? Or..." I trail off suggestively.

She makes her way over to her desk as she speaks, "Dr. Lewis has briefed me on your situation but we can do whatever makes you the most comfortable."

"Okay. Let's just pick up where my last session left off. So, Dr. T's already told you that I'm an emotionally detached thirty-year-old who suffers from insomnia, hysteria, arachnophobia and has sociopathic tendencies but did he mention that I've recently discovered an interest in cross dressing? Oh, wait," I pause in thought, "did I even tell him that yet?"

"I ..." Dr. Porter stands behind her desk for a moment completely taken aback. "I... don't recall seeing—" She fumbles with a drawer in order obtain what I assume to be my file before quickly flipping through it. "Um...no, I can't say that he has."

"Good, because that would mean Tyler gave you the wrong file. I'm thirty-one."

She attempts to fight a smile and fails, "Please have seat." Wordlessly, I take a seat on the off-white sofa and wait as she gathers a few papers and her tablet before joining me in a matching adjacent chair. "Now, how are you feeling today, Mr. Desai?"

"Danny," I remind her, "Mr. Desai was my father."

"Danny," she amends.

"Same as yesterday and the day before. Tired. Nauseous. Weak."

I watch as she nods her head and types something into her tablet. "That's understandable; those are all normal side effects of chemotherapy. What I meant to ask was, aside from the physical aspects, how are you feeling? How are you doing emotionally?"

My eyes wander back to the framed quote. "Is that supposed to be inspirational?"

"Do you need it to be?"

"Are you asking if I'm in need of inspiration?" I counter.

"Danny," her tone remains level, even though I can tell her patience is wearing thin, "you seem to be evading my questions."

A smirk naturally makes its way onto my face as I lean farther back into the couch, "Am I? And here I thought we were making a crap-load of progress. You know, on the verge of a breakthrough."

She peers up at me over the rims of her black frames and I hold her gaze. We both say nothing for what seems like a long time. "I understand that what you're going through is very challenging, but dodging every question I ask isn't going to help you."

"And talking about my cancer will?" I don't mean to sound rude but I do. "Because talking about it will somehow magically cure it?" I smack the heel of my hand against my forehead, "Wow, what revelation! Why the hell didn't I think of that?"

"You're angry. Anger is a natural part of—"

I shake my head, "Nope, I'm not angry. I'm about four months past anger. In fact Dr. Porter, I've already been through all five stages of grief. I've reached acceptance. I've accepted the fact that I'm probably going to die."

If I didn't have her attention before I most certainly have it now, "What makes you think that you're going to die?"

"Statistics. Biology. History." I shrug indifferently, "Take your pick."

"Dr. Lewis mentioned that your father lost his battle with cancer. That's unfortunate."

"So did my Aunt Tara. They both couldn't beat this—this _thing_." I spit the word out in disgust, "Leukemia took their lives, why would I be any different?"

"Danny, a lot of what you're feeling stems from your treatment. It can take a lot out of you and leave you feeling—"

"Actually," I interrupt, "it stems from the past; history repeating itself."

* * *

**Session Two:**

"How are you feeling today, Danny?" Dr. Porter asks as soon as I'm seated.

"I'm good. Great, even. And you?"

She looks up at me quizzically, probably surprised by my change in attitude, "I'm fine, thank you."

We lapse into a unified silence as soon as our eyes meet, "So," I say after awhile, "is this how we're going to start every session?"

"What do you mean?" She looks away from me as soon as the words leave her mouth.

"'How are you feeling?' because I can't imagine that getting old."

"We don't have to, if it makes you uncomfortable," she takes off her glasses and places them on the arm of her chair. She seems so much younger without them, almost like a teenager. "How would you like to begin?"

"I don't know, perhaps with a glass of bourbon?"

Dr. Porter chuckles, she has a cute laugh, "I'll see what I can do, but in the meantime don't hold your breath."

"Well, if bourbon's out of the question, I'd settle for getting to psychoanalyze you while you're doing the same to me. You know, quid por quo."

"Latin," she notes, seemingly impressed. "So the language isn't dead after all, who knew?"

"Look who's evading questions now," I deadpan.

"I'm not evading," Dr. Porter protests. "Just making an observation."

"So? Up for a round of twenty questions?"

"Like I said, don't hold your breath."

"Fine," I sigh, "I won't."

* * *

**Session Five:**

"You know what," I say, as I lie down on the couch, "I don't want to talk about The Big C today, unless we're discussing the TV show. Cancer is the new Voldemort so we shall not speak of it."

"Alright," Dr. Porter begins hesitantly, "what would you like to talk about?"

I think for a moment, running a hand over my knit cap, "My hair. Before the-thing-that-we-shall-not-speak-of, I had really great hair."

"I bet you did," she remarks quietly and then a bit louder, "Do you miss it?"

I shift slightly so I can look at her, "As silly as it may seem, yeah, I really do. When I was in high school my mother and I used to argue about the length of my hair at least once a week. She wanted it cropped short like my dad's and I wanted it to cascade behind me in the wind when I played soccer. Needless to say, I won every single argument. I didn't have a 'proper' haircut until I was about twenty-three out of respect for my father after he..." Silently, I return my gaze to the ceiling.

"Your father, he's a sensitive topic." Taking my silence as her cue, Dr. Porter switches gears and asks, "So, you played soccer?"

"Uh, yeah. I was a centre forward throughout high school and my first three years of university."

"Small world, my fiancé, Archie, was a centre forward for many years as well. He was planning to play professionally but had to stop when he blew out his knee."

Of their own accord my eyes seem to fall on her left hand and for the first time I notice the diamond proudly gleaming on her ring finger, "You're engaged?"

She follows my gaze and her eyes land on her ring as well, "Yes, I am."

"That's unfortunate. About your fiancé's knee, I mean. That sucks." Closing my eyes I mumble, "Lucky guy."

* * *

**Session Eight:**

"Afternoon, Dr. Porter, how's that guy you're going to marry?" For some reason, I've started our past two sessions with this exact same question.

And her response is the same each time, "His name is Archie."

Our eyes lock, "I know."

Dr. Porter lets out a sigh even though she's grinning, "Let's discuss your mother."

"My mother? Why?"

"I'd like to try something new." She tilts her head to the left and gives me a dimpled smile, "Humor me."

"Alright. What can I say about Karen Desai?" I briefly mull over my options before saying anything, "She's been everywhere I look since my diagnosis. At the hospital. At my place. Everywhere. She tried to get me to move back in with her for about two months straight, and when that didn't work; she tried to move in with me. Can you imagine, me living with the She-Beast at thirty-one?"

"God no!" she exclaims, before looking away sheepishly, "What I meant to say is, I couldn't imagine living with my own mother, your mother is a different story."

"No, Lacey," I chortle, "I'm pretty sure what you meant to say was 'God, no' on both counts."

"You called me Lacey," there's a note of surprise in her voice.

"I did?" my brow furrows, "Sorry."

"No, no. It's perfectly fine." She takes her bottom lip between her teeth while considering her next words, "It just caught me off-guard; you've never called me by my first name before."

"No. I guess I haven't."

I hadn't realized until this moment that I'd separated Dr. Porter from Lacey. To me they were two different people; the frigid doctor and the funny, sweet and kind girl. The person that I am talking to today is definitely Lacey.

* * *

**Session Twelve:**

"You missed your last session, Danny," Lacey says in lieu of a greeting. She's already seated in her armchair with one leg crossed over the other.

"I know...I wasn't feeling up to it." Slowly, I ease myself onto the couch, "Sorry."

"It's fine. I was just—I was really—" She runs a hand through her hair, "It's fine. How are you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just peachy," I deadpan.

"Danny..." She sighs.

"A few nosebleeds aren't anything that I can't handle, Doc." I try to make my voice light instead of drowsy and defeated which is how I actually feel.

"Alright." For a second she just sits there fiddling with something in her hands and then, seemingly out of nowhere, she thrusts a florescent Post-it note in my face. "Here, it's my cell phone number, in case you ever need— I just want you to have it, okay?"

"Okay." I take the gaudy paper from her and examine the digits closely, "Is this allowed? I mean, isn't this some sort of breech in the whole doctor/ patient relationship?"

"I'll admit, it's not exactly conventional," Lacey, confesses.

"Couldn't you get in trouble for giving me this?"

"Look, Danny, I'm not giving this to you as your therapist, I'm giving this to you as your friend." She shrugs, "Besides, you're worth the risk."

* * *

**Session Thirteen:**

_"Hello?"_

"So, you didn't give me a phony number. Good to know."

_"Danny?"_

"Lacey."

_"Is everything—"_

"I'm fine," I run a hand over my head feeling nothing but smooth skin. "I'm actually at my chemo appointment."

It takes her a moment to respond, _"How are you holding up?"_

"I'm fine," I repeat my answer from earlier. Those two words have become my mantra; maybe if I say it enough people will start to believe it. "I kind of wish they'd hook a vodka drip to my chest instead though."

_"Danny..." _There's a certain heaviness to her voice, like she's struggling with what should come next. "Danny, _you called me for a reason. If you want to talk, let's talk. If not then I should probably go." _

"Lacey, wait."

_"I want to help you but I can't if you won't tell me what you're really feeling," she coaxes._

I close my eyes and try to swallow the lump that's formed in my throat. "Right now— right now, I feel like I'm never going to have a normal life. Like I'm never going to do normal things. Like I'm never really going to have the chance to be happy. And that terrifies me."

_"You're scared. That's good, we can work with that."_

* * *

**Session Sixteen:**

I flop down onto the sofa tiredly, "So, my mother wants to meet you."

Lacey's eyes widen behind her lenses, "She does?"

"Yeah, she does."

"Oh, well, umm." She bites her lip and looks away in thought, "Group therapy is very common, especially in situations similar to yours. Family members often want to offer their support and gain a better understanding of what their loved one is going through."

I snort, "Are you just reciting something you read in your Psychology 101 textbook?"

"What? No!" She exclaims.

"Wikipedia then?" The look on her face says it all; she looks as though I've caught her sneaking cookies before dinner, "No way! I was joking, but you really—"

"As I was saying," she interrupts, "Your mother wanting to meet your therapist is perfectly normal. If it's okay with you, she's welcome to sit in one of our sessions."

"Okay, yeah. I think I'd kind of like that."

* * *

**Session Seventeen:**

Lacey greets my mother as soon as her Jimmy Choo pump crosses the threshold, "Mrs. Desai, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Dr. Porter," she extends a manicured hand to grasp one of Lacey's. "I really appreciate you allowing me to join one of your sessions. I hear you came highly recommended by Danny's last therapist."

"Dr. Lewis, is an amazing therapist, so I must say, I'm flattered that he thinks so much of me."

Mother gracefully sits on the couch then Lacey and I follow suit, me on the couch beside her and Lacey in her armchair.

"Tell me Dr. Porter," she begins as she runs the palms of her hands over her skirt to smooth away any wrinkles, "what has Danny said to you about our relationship? Did he tell you that he thinks I'm overbearing? Insufferable? Domineering? That I'm coddling him?" My mother has always possessed the subtlety of a hand grenade.

Lacey's eyes briefly flash in my direction, probably to gauge my reaction but I keep my features expertly schooled. "Mrs. Desai, I'm not at liberty to discuss my previous sessions with your son. That would violate—"

"Dr. Porter, I wasn't exactly there for Danny when he was younger. He was never a priority, especially after my husband was first diagnosed. I didn't know how to be there for him. And now I just," Mother holds back a sob, "I just want to make up for that. I want to be there for him. To do everything that I can for him. It's my job as his mother."

"That's understandable," Lacey nods her head in agreement. "This is a trying time for both of you. You don't need to justify your actions to me or anyone for that matter; you're doing what you think you need to do."

"It was just so different with Vik when he was sick. He needed me. He wanted me around. It's... harder with Danny. He fights me on everything. He always has to resist, always has to have the last word, always has to be so damn difficult." She smiles sadly, "There are days when I get so frustrated but then I remember what Vik used to say, 'Danny's been independent since the day he was born' and if I'm being honest, that's what I love most about my son. However, I'm still his mother and I just wish he needed me even a fraction of the amount that I need him."

"You and I both know that I need you, Mother." I speak for the first time, turning to face her, "Do you think I don't notice every little thing you do to help me? How you always stock up on soda crackers after my chemo appointments. How you refill my prescriptions before I even think of doing it. How you're blowing through your savings trying to find me a donor."

"Danny..."

"I notice, Mother. You say that I resist, that I'm difficult but it's because I saw what a toll Dad's illness took on you. I'm trying to spare you."

Leaning forward, my mother runs the back of her hand against my cheek, "I'm your mother, Danny. I'm supposed to take care of you."

"And I'm your son. I'm supposed to take care of you in return."

Lacey holds out a box of tissue and Mother accepts one gratefully to dab her eyes. "How did you do that?"

Smiling, Lacey says, "Sometimes, all we need is a new perspective."

* * *

Once we're inside her car, my mother turns to me, "I can see why you left Dr. Lewis. Dr. Porter is amazing, I really like her."

"That makes two of us."

* * *

**Session Twenty:**

I can tell by the way Lacey looks at me that I look as bad as I feel. I'm tired; beyond tired really and there's no hiding it.

"I haven't been responding very well to my treatment," I admit.

"What about a donor?" The voice is Dr. Porter's, but the eyes are all Lacey; she's worried about me and this isn't the first time she's felt this way.

"They haven't been successful in locating a match. Apparently, I'm one of a kind, which would be pretty awesome if..." I trail off not bothering to finish. She's smart, she'll catch on.

Lacey nods in understanding, before quietly coming to join me on the off-white couch. We sit in silence for awhile until she asks, "Danny, do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head, "Not really."

"Okay." She hesitates before reaching over to grasp one of my hands, lacing our fingers together, "If it matters, I'm sorry."

I give her small hand a squeeze and offer her, what I think to be, a descent smile, "Trust me, Lacey, it matters."

_What must be shall be._

* * *

**A/N:** I wanted to showcase all the aspects of cancer; the bad days and the days that are slightly better. Hopefully, this was an accurate depiction and in no way offensive.

I drew inspiration from the amazing movie _50/50_, as well as _My Sister's Keeper_.

Danny and Lacey may have seemed slightly OCC but I figured since certain events never happened in their lives they would be different. Also, they're older than on the show so that would impact their characterization as well. I thought Lacey would make a good therapist because she's usually more concerned about other people and their problems than her own.

Show quotes/ concepts are taken from Twisted episodes 1, 2, 7, 8, 9 and 11.

The next chapter will have a lighter tone.

Thank you for reading.


End file.
